


Born To Run

by Frostfire



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 20:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Across the border into Mexico. Post-fourth movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born To Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scylla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/gifts).



Highway wind hurtles past Dom’s body as he hits the roof of the Charger, sun-heated metal scorching his left hand, his right wrapped around Brian’s wrist. “ _Go_!” he shouts down to Brian. Behind him, the prison bus is screeching off the side of the road, and Brian veers smoothly away from it; Dom steadies himself, lets go of Brian, and slides over to the passenger side. He’s breathing hard, adrenaline and sheer fucking shock, but his hands are steady, his mind is clear. After the  last couple of months, even sitting in the prison bus—moving vehicle, sun coming in through the windows—had been a relief. This, balancing on top of a speeding car, hands free and straining to hold himself, is like coming alive again.

When he squeezes in the passenger-side window, Brian is watching Dom instead of the road; as Dom settles himself into the seat, Brian slips the Charger around Mia’s NSX and into the lead without glancing away. “You okay?” he asks; his voice is tight, trying to sound cool.

“Good,” says Dom, and he means it. Just being in a car again, even in the passenger seat—it’s like wrapping his arms around someone he hasn’t touched in months. He wants to reach over and haul Brian out of the driver’s seat, crawl over him and take the wheel. He tamps the urge down and says, “This wasn’t how I expected my day to go.”

“Should have counted on me,” says Brian, his eyes still raking over Dom, like he’s trying to reassure himself Dom’s real.

Dom can think of a lot of things to say to that, but it isn’t the time for macho bullshit, so he just says, “Yeah.”

There’s a moment, then, where he’s just looking silently back at Brian, and it’s heavy like the thud when hit the Charger’s roof, like the weight of Brian’s hand in his. Dom lets it stretch out, and then says, “What the hell are you doing to the accelerator? Thought your foot was lighter these days.”

Brian takes a quick, obvious breath, and he says, “You want me to slow down? Half the cops in southern California are going to be on our ass if we don’t get the hell away from that bus.” In the mirror, Dom can see tiny figures scattering, orange uniforms blurry through the heat waves. Brian accelerates again—the speed feels _good_ , deeply and physically good; whatever logic and sanity says, Dom still likes it in an almost sexual way, going this fast—and they disappear behind a swell of asphalt. Brian still isn’t watching the road.

“Just saying that you don’t need to use _all_ nine hundred horsepower all the way to Mexico,” says Dom. “Don’t want to lose Mia and Tego.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Brian, and finally looks away from Dom, digging into the pocket of his jeans. He twists his hips, keeping his foot on the accelerator, and shows off a long strip of skin and the waistband of his boxers before he comes up with a phone, vibrating. He flips it open. “Hey, Mia. He’s fine. Really. Yeah, the first route should be good, unless Tego’s picked up anything on the scanner. Yeah, sure.” He holds out the phone to Dom.

Dom takes it. “Mia.”

“Dom,” she says. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m really okay,” he says.

“I love you,” she says. “I have to drive, but.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I love you, too,” and snaps the phone shut. “What’s she doing here?”

Brian lifts a hand from the steering wheel, _don’t-look-at-me_. “If I’d told her to stay in L.A., she would have shown up anyway. She’s too good to turn away; I always thought it was too bad she didn’t race more.”

“Yeah,” says Dom. “She could’ve turned out just like me.”

Brian snorts. “Yeah, okay.” He glances over again, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re doing pretty good now, though.”

Dom can feel the smile starting on his own face, although he keeps it small. “Yeah,” he says, and takes a deep breath of dusty California air. “Thanks,” and it comes from somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and real.

“Anytime,” says Brian, and his own voice is soft and serious. The road curves, and he looks away to drive.

Dom breathes in deep again, and says, “So, O’Conner, what have you done to this car? It was shaking in third.”

When Brian looks back at him, he’s smiling like a kid, bright and open. “Talk later,” he says. “Change now. There’s jeans and a T-shirt in the backseat.”

Dom twists around and finds them, neatly folded. Stripping off the jumpsuit is like coming back into his skin, and he recognizes the clothes; they’re his, left in Mia’s house when they headed to Mexico.

When he’s down to his boxers, he can’t help remembering the only other times he’s stripped in the passenger seat: when he’d been riding with Letty and she’d looked over at him and said, _Take off your clothes_. And he’d grinned and done it, down in Mexico, and once in Costa Rica, and in L.A. all the way back to when they were young and dumb. Late at night, headed somewhere or nowhere, reaching for her once he was naked and being told, _Stop it, I’m driving_. With that shit-eating grin, sexy and sure of herself. And he’d jump her the second she pulled over, and they’d fuck on the hood of the car, hot and smelling like metal and engine grease.

He lets the memory go, or he’s going to get a hard-on thinking about it. He hasn’t had any sex at all since Letty, and he’s finally, now that he’s past the solid merciless rage and the cold vacuum of grief, starting to want it again.

Brian’s looking at him, a quick look over and away. “Those good? I just grabbed whatever.”

“Sure,” says Dom, and pulls the T-shirt over his head. The jeans take a little more maneuvering, and he catches Brian looking again as he lifts his hips to get them on. His dick swells just a little more; he always liked it when Letty watched him, and feeling Brian’s eyes is almost a turn-on, too.

Brian looks away before he’s fastened the button, slowing down as they come up on a few other cars, and Dom tosses the orange jumpsuit into the backseat and says, “So, what the hell _is_ it doing in third?”

*             *             *

They’re heading south, of course, and after Dom’s spent some time reassuring himself that Brian hasn’t fucked up the Charger too bad, he asks, “There a plan for getting across the border?”

“We weren’t using the only tunnels,” says Brian. “Braga hasn’t rolled on any of them, but I stayed in touch with Gisele, and she’s been very helpful.” Quick flash of a look at Dom, a little grin. “She likes you.”

“Tell her thank you,” says Dom.

“Yeah,” says Brian, “I think she isn’t going to be satisfied unless you tell her yourself, but I’ll leave that up to you.” He looks over at Dom again. It’s the fifteenth or twentieth time since they got out of danger and onto the highway, like he wants to keep checking that Dom is still in the passenger seat. Dom’s deliberately not telling Brian to watch the road. It wouldn’t work, for one, and they aren’t going to crash; Brian’s one of those drivers whose sense of space is beyond good, like he has some psychic awareness of the road around him.

“Where we headed, then?” Dom asks. “Still the California border?”

“What if I said east Texas?” Brian asks.

“I’d say it’s my turn to drive,” says Dom. He’s thinking about saying it anyway. It’s been too fucking long, since he was behind the wheel of a car, and he’s uncomfortable letting anyone else drive the Charger. Even Brian, who’s seen it through a couple of deaths and rebirths, now.

“Probably best if you aren’t seen at the wheel until we cross the border,” says Brian. “Although the car’s enough by itself.”

“It _is_ my car,” Dom says.

“It’s probably three-quarters mine by volume now,” says Brian. “Since I put it back together.”

There are a lot of things Dom could say to that, _thank you_ maybe at the top of the list—he’d been sure the Charger was dead, a heap of twisted metal buried under several tons of dirt—but he just says, “It’s _my_ car.”

And Brian just says, “Yeah.”

They don’t get stopped by the cops—don’t even see any, thanks to their scanner; there’s one close call, when Dom points out a black-and-white far ahead, but Brian turns the Charger on a dime to take the exit they’ve almost passed, and Mia and Tego follow without missing a beat.

They hit the tunnels around four in the afternoon, and the contrast between the late afternoon sun and the closed-in dark of the dirt walls is like a smack to the head. Dom has to breathe deep, remind himself that he’s free, he’s in his own car, that the walls are temporary.

Brian helps, a bright steady presence in the passenger seat. His hands are calmer on the wheel now than they were earlier, his eyes on the road but not flicking around looking for landmarks; he knows the way. He tosses another glance at Dom, quickly this time. “Another thirty seconds or so.”

Dom is not completely happy with the idea that Brian can tell he’s uncomfortable, but there’s nothing he can do about that right now, so he only says, “Driven these before?”

Brian nods. “We’ve been moving some things south. We have a place down near the peninsula, temporary but pretty nice. We were figuring we’d wait until you got out before we decided where to set up permanently.”

“We,” says Dom slowly.

Brian glances over again, glances back just in time to avoid colliding with a wooden support. He eases back for a second, but—inevitably—speeds up again the next, faster than before. “Yeah, we,” he says. “What, you thought I’d break you out and head back to FBI headquarters tomorrow for work? I’m coming with you.”

Dom had, actually, thought that. It’s become pretty clear that Brian will always help Dom stay ahead of the law, but it’s a big fucking step from handing Dom a set of car keys to going on the run with him. “You even been to South America before?”

“Nope,” says Brian, sounding almost cheerful, and they come up into the bright Mexican sunshine, kicking up dust and dirt behind them. Dom squints into the light, can’t see an actual road anywhere nearby. Brian angles the Charger east and drives; behind them, Mia’s out of the tunnel and Tego’s just emerging.

“All right,” says Dom, after they’re all out, because it doesn’t seem like there’s anything else to say. And because, if he admits it to himself, he wants Brian with him. After Braga, after Mexico, he started to remember what it was like, five years ago. Why he liked Brian so much.

They spend about ten minutes driving through the flat terrain before they turn onto a real, paved road. Dom waits another five minutes before he says, “Pull over.”

Brian looks over at him, alarmed. “What? Why?”

“Just do it,” says Dom. Brian, a little to his surprise, obeys without any more questions. Dom gets out, walks to the driver’s side, jerks his head. Brian shakes his head at him, but he gets out.

Up ahead, Mia and Tego and Rico are pulling over, too. “Something wrong?” Tego calls.

“No problem,” Brian shouts back. “Someone couldn’t take the sidelines anymore.”

Tego’s laughter drifts back at them as he peels out again. Mia lingers until Dom’s behind the wheel, turning her head to look, waiting for the engine to start. He can’t decide if he’s happy she’s here or not, hoping no one knows what she’s doing, that she hasn’t left her career behind.

Driving again is like a religious fucking experience. He holds out for about five minutes before he starts to accelerate. Seventy, eighty. A hundred.

“What were you saying about leaving Mia and Tego behind, earlier?” Brian says from the passenger seat, half-laughing.

“They know where they’re going,” Dom says, and pushes it to one-ten. He can’t help a little sigh of satisfaction as the Charger surges forward. Brian settles himself into his seat and gives Dom the grin.

Yeah, he wants this.

He takes it up to one-twenty before he starts easing back; just in time, because Brian says, “Turn here,” and they end up on a busier street, cars all around. Dom thinks about testing his reflexes, but lets it go; he’s had a taste, and that’s enough for now.

They drive until dark, and stop at a motel in a small, scrubby town exactly like a hundred other small, scrubby towns nearby. Brian disappears to get them rooms, and Dom opens his arms for Mia, pulls her in and hugs her tight.

“I’m so glad,” she says into his chest. “Dom, I’m so glad.”

“Me too, _bella_ ,” he says into her hair, so quietly he doesn’t know if she hears. “Me too.”

*             *             *

Brian comes back with keys to three rooms; he hands keys to Tego and Rico, to Mia, and to Dom. He holds up the twin to Dom’s key with a questioning look. Dom nods without thinking too hard about it, and Brian stuffs it into his pocket.

“I’m going to go get us something to eat,” he says. “See you guys in a bit.” He heads off to the Charger.

Dom thinks about telling Brian not to get too used to driving Dom’s car, but he lets it go, turns to Mia. “Inside?” he says.

“Sure,” she says, and lets them into her room.

It’s dingy and cheap-looking, but the town’s small enough that it’s lucky there’s anywhere to stay at all. Dom sits down on one bed, and Mia drops down across from him.

“Anyone know you’re here?” Dom says first.

Mia shakes her head. “It’s my weekend. I’ll head back tomorrow, go to work like normal. If they question me, I have an alibi.”

He hates that she’s involved at all, but there’s a part of him that’s glad that she’s standing with him, as what’s left of his family. “Stay there,” he says anyway. “Keep your job. Don’t let them take an inch.”

“I know how to do this, Dom,” she says, smiling a little. She’s so much older, not even a med student anymore, a real adult with a job and a life. He hates himself for missing those years, leaving her alone to grow up.

“I wish you didn’t,” he says, and lets that be all. “Where are we headed?”

She shakes her head. “Better I don’t know. Brian’s put it all together.”

And that’s another thing, but it’s a thing he’ll ask Brian about later. For now, he enjoys the sun streaming in through the windows, his sister here with him, his car out there—well, his car being driven by Brian. Brian, he decides, is going to get his own goddamn car as soon as possible.

“Are you okay?” she asks him, looking at him with her dark Mia eyes. “I know it isn’t like last time, but—”

Last time. Last time, Mia was only a teenager, still in high school, having to deal with their father’s death and Dom’s prison sentence all at once. Maybe that was when she really grew up, Dom thinks, and he just hadn’t realized until now.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Didn’t have any problems inside, didn’t see Lompoc at all.” He’d thought he would, even when Brian visited and said—almost nothing, really, but Dom knew what Brian looked like when he was excited, hoping. But Dom had had a hard time believing, even after Braga, that Brian would blow through legality so far as to actually break Dom out of prison. “Don’t worry about me, Mia. I’ll be okay.”

“I wish Letty were here,” she says. “I miss her, Dom.”

He breathes deep. “Me too.” She was one of a kind. And he knows, now that he’s down here again, in the land of sun and Spanish and long, winding two-lane highways, he’ll be looking over his shoulder for her. His fault. “She should be here,” he says, and Mia comes over to his bed and he puts his arm around her, hugs her into his side.

*             *             *

Brian gets back with tacos and sweet Mexican Coke, knocks on Mia’s door with his arms full and dumps everything on the tiny table in the corner. “Dropped off Tego and Rico’s already,” he says. “Who’s saying grace?”

“You asked,” says Mia, as they sit down in the flimsy chairs. “Let’s hear it.”

Brian flashes her his grin and bows his head. “Dear Lord,” he says. “Thank you for tacos, and electronic fuel injection, and for…Torettos. Amen.” He opens his eyes, fixes them on Dom, his mouth still turned up in a half-smile.

Dom surveys the table. “Be better if I could thank the Lord for Corona.”

“Picky,” says Brian. “We can go out again and get some later. You can drive.”

“Watch it,” says Dom, and grabs for a taco.

They demolish the food, even Mia, and she’s hiding yawns behind her hand by the time they’re finished. “Time to hit the sack,” says Brian. “Long drive tomorrow.”

Dom could not be less tired, but he nods, stands up with Brian to clear off the table. He hugs Mia again—her hands clutch at his shoulders, her nose buried in his chest, and he inhales; she smells a little like their mother—and says, “Goodnight, _bella_.”

He pauses at the door, expecting Brian to be on his heels, but he’s over with Mia himself, arms sliding around her, saying something softly into her ear. Brian squeezes tight, lingers a second, and finally lets go and comes up behind Dom. Dom shuts the door softly and waits until they’ve reached their own room to say, “So, you and Mia.”

“Nothing,” says Brian instantly. “Maybe there was still a little attraction when we met up again in L.A., but there’s no romance there. She likes me again, but she doesn’t want me.”

“Yeah? What about you?” says Dom, because he wants to be sure about this—doesn’t want Mia and Brian doing anything with each other, Christ, if there was ever a recipe for disaster. “You wish she was into you? You still want to date her?”

Brian has half a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Will you punch me if I say no?”

“More likely to punch you if you say yes,” says Dom, watching as the half-smile gets bigger. It makes him think of that smiling blond kid that wouldn’t back down, standing next to his smoking Eclipse, _dude, I nearly had you_.

“Good,” says Brian. “Because you punch pretty hard.”

Dom shakes his head. “I’m taking a shower.” Brian laughs behind him, as he closes the bathroom door.

In the shower, he breathes in the steamy air, thinks about Brian, about why he’s even here. Why he was ever here, why he ever followed Dom into a foreign country to assassinate a drug lord with a few dozen bodyguards.

Brian’s never had any self-preservation, he thinks, and then he wonders what the fuck he’s thinking, because how long has he even known the real Brian O’Conner? Counting actual face time, maybe a couple of weeks.

And by that count, the real Brian O’Conner likes: cars, working on cars, racing cars, and risking his life with Dominic Toretto. He does not like: being cut out of the action, following his boss’s orders. So maybe he’s not that different from Brian Earl Spilner, after all.

*             *             *

Brian showers after Dom, and when he gets out, Dom’s lying back on his own bed, trying to sleep. He’s too tense by far, but he feels himself relax a little at the sight of Brian going through his bag for clean boxers, towel around his waist, skin pale and damp. He’s less blond these days, and wet, his hair looks dark brown, almost.

He disappears back into the bathroom to change, and when he comes out he’s fully dressed again. Dom pushes himself up on one elbow and says, “We should get some sleep.” He won’t be sleeping anytime soon, probably, but that isn’t Brian’s problem, especially after a day like today.

“Yeah,” says Brian. He’s staring out the window, and he doesn’t sound like he’s listening. “Hey,” and he looks over at Dom. “Remember that stretch of road, about a mile after the exit we took?” His eyes are bright and guileless, like Dom had almost forgotten they could get.

“I do,” Dom says slowly. “But last I looked, you didn’t have a car.”

“Mia lets me drive the Honda,” says Brian.

Dom breathes out. “You got keys?”

Brian’s smile flashes once, bright, and he’s up and grabbing his keys from the dresser.

*             *             *

They cruise out to the empty stretch of road, running along at the limit. They don’t pass anybody, and Dom is almost sorry. He’s never raced Brian on a highway, and he’d like to, someday; on an open stretch, Brian’s a cocky driver with a little bit of a heavy foot, never really a problem for Dom to beat, but when weaving in and out of traffic, he’s brilliant, insane and impossible to touch. And it’s been a long, long time since Dom raced anyone just to race.

They don’t need a line and they don’t need a signal; once they’re off, they’re neck-and-neck, the Charger rumbling around Dom while Brian’s Honda speeds along next to him. The scenery blurs, and Dom falls into the dead calm he always feels when racing, that pure, clean place where speed is the only thing that matters and the road is the whole world.

The NSX stays with him, one solid constant amid the rushing outside world. And then there’s a second, maybe halfway to their finish line, when Dom ignores everything smart about racing, everything that keeps a car going these speeds from pasting itself against a brick wall—or plowing into an oncoming semi—and takes his attention from the road, looks over at Brian. He can’t help himself.

Brian’s looking back at him. Brian’s always looked at him, and Dom used to think it was hero-worship, and then he used to think it was because Brian was a cop, watching his target, and now he doesn’t know what to think, but he does know that when he looks back at the road, the Charger’s bumper has edged just ahead of the NSX.

He pulls to a stop a hundred feet or so past the tree they made into a finish line. Brian slides in ahead of him, steps out of his car; his smile isn’t as big and stupid as the first time Dom beat him, but it’s there. “Hey, congrats,” he says. “Good thing I didn’t bet my car this time.”

“Good thing,” says Dom. “Since you’ve never won a race against me.”

 “First time for everything,” says Brian. “Next time.” He holds out his hand.

Dom doesn’t let himself hesitate, just steps up close, slaps their hands together and shakes. Brian’s hand is warm, a little sweaty, and they’re far enough in each other’s space that Dom can feel his body heat. It’s more like an embrace than a handshake, and Brian holds on like he never wants to move again. He’s still smiling.

It’s hard to breathe. Racing Brian has always been a rush, and now they’re so close that Dom could just push Brian back against the NSX and—

—what?

Dom lets Brian’s hand go, and the second his grip loosens, Brian releases him, stands back. “Next time,” he says again, “I’ll have you.”

“This time,” says Dom, “I had you. And that’s what matters.”

Brian’s smile gets wider. “Sure,” he says. “Want to prove it?”

Dom breathes. Is he doing this? He’s probably not in his right mind, definitely shouldn’t be making life-changing decisions, but he does not give a shit right now, he hasn’t touched anyone in months and Brian is so _Brian_ it’s making his eyes hurt, so he says, “Get in the car.”

Brian’s behind the Honda’s wheel almost before Dom finishes speaking, and Dom slides into the Charger’s driver’s seat, shifts a little to keep his hard-on from getting too uncomfortable, and starts the engine.

*             *             *

He thinks, on the drive back to the motel, about Brian, Brian and his pretty movie-star looks, his brilliant smile, and then Brian bent over an engine, ass tight against his jeans, muscle cording in his forearms. His hands on the steering wheel, his fingers wrapped around a wrench. Brian bloody and coughing, Brian sprawled in the dust with his legs spread, Brian asleep on Dom’s couch in the middle of the afternoon.

He’s never fucked a man before, but by the time they pull into the motel parking lot, he wants to fuck Brian so bad he can hardly breathe.

“Fuck,” says Brian, when they get inside and Dom shoves him up against the wall, thigh between his legs, rubbing up against his dick, “oh, _fuck_.” His tongue flickers out over his lips, mouth open and shiny-wet, and Dom wants those lips wrapped around his dick so badly that he doesn’t even think when Brian pulls him in, just takes his mouth, tasting him. Brian’s tongue is hot and slick, stroking along Dom’s, his mouth open, wanting. He rubs himself against Dom’s thigh, and Dom can’t even think _what the fuck, am I kissing a guy_ , because it’s all jumbled up with Brian’s mouth and the noises he’s making and the helpless-seeming movement of his hips.

“Jesus,” says Brian against his mouth, then, pulling back a little, “Take this off.” He pushes the hem of Dom’s T-shirt up, his hands warm and rough against the skin at Dom’s waist. Dom pulls it over his head and bends down to kiss Brian again—shit, that _mouth_ —before pulling back again.

“Now you,” he says, but Brian’s not paying attention; he’s looking at Dom’s chest.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he says, half-laughing, panting a little. “Jesus, look at you.”

Dom’s used to people talking about his body—men, women, whatever—and he can look at it whenever he wants, so he stays focused and takes hold of Brian’s T-shirt. “Put your arms up,” he says.

Brian looks up from his chest, eyebrows raised. “I can take my own shirt off, Dom,” he says.

Dom shakes his head and smiles, pulls his hands back and holds them up. “So take it off.”

Brian tugs the shirt up over his head and tosses it away, then splays his hands over Dom’s chest. His fingers stroke over Dom’s pecs, his thumbs nudging his nipples, and Dom groans a little, leans in to kiss him again. Brian’s hands slide up, around to cup his head, and they’re chest to chest, Brian’s skin hot against his. Brian’s tongue flickers into his mouth, and Dom drops his hands to Brian’s waistband.

Brian makes a strangled noise when Dom’s left hand finds his dick, squeezing him through his jeans. Dom flicks open the button with his right, unzips him, slips his hand inside. He fumbles for a second with the boxers—Brian moans into the kiss, his mouth going slack—but after a second he gets Brian’s dick out and wraps his hand around it.

“Oh, _God_ ,” says Brian, pulling back, “oh, Christ, your hands. Fuck.” He’s shoving into Dom’s grip, panting. His dick is hot and smooth in Dom’s hand, a little sticky, nothing that should be a turn-on, but when he starts to really jerk Brian off, he has to reach down with his other hand and grab hold of himself, because it is the hottest fucking thing in the _world_.

Brian’s gasping, making little noises with each breath, and he keeps talking, like he can’t help himself, “Shit, shit, shit, that feels good. Your hands are like,” he swallows, makes a little whining noise when Dom twists a little on the upstroke, “the biggest fucking turn-on, I’m never going to be able to—” he laughs a little, shuddering, “to watch you work on an engine again _ever_ , oh fuck, Dom, kiss me—”

Dom kisses him, bites at his lower lip, jerks him hard and fast until Brian groans deep and convulses against him, shuddering and coming against his fingers. Dom’s dick jerks in his pants, and he shoves his tongue into Brian’s mouth. The space between them—Dom’s hand, their stomachs—is slick with come, the air around them is humid and smelling like sex. He undoes his own jeans with his free hand, takes his dick out, finally; he’s hard enough to hurt, ready to just jerk off onto Brian’s stomach. The image is almost hot enough to get him there, the idea of coming all over Brian, and he gives his dick a long, slow pull.

Brian notices, though, and he says, “Wait—” dragging in air, pushing up off the wall. “Wait, I can—” and he turns them around, stumbling a little, pushing Dom back up against the wall and dropping—suddenly, astonishingly—to his knees.

“Fuck,” says Dom involuntarily, as Brian reaches for his dick, his mouth already open. Fuck, fuck, fuck; Brian takes a bare second to run a thumb under the head before he licks a wet line from balls to tip and takes it into his mouth.

The heat is incredible; Dom only just barely keeps himself from thrusting hard into that hot, soft, wet mouth, and is rewarded when Brian sucks gently, then goes down a little further and sucks harder. Dom can hear himself groan, down deep in his chest, and his clean hand falls down to cup Brian’s head. Brian makes a sound around his cock, and the sensation ripples up from his dick all through his body; arousal is pooled in his stomach, and his toes are starting to curl, his fingertips tingling. “Suck me,” he says roughly to Brian, “yeah. Like that.”

Brian sucks him. It’s so good he can’t think; his hips are moving involuntarily, pushing his cock between those slick lips, but Brian doesn’t protest, just takes it and sucks harder. Dom’s panting into the hot, still air, feeling it build and build as Brian’s thumbs stroke over his hips, down around his pubic hair, against his inner thighs. He knows his hand is gripping Brian’s head a little too hard, but it’s an abstract knowledge, far removed from the reality of Brian’s hair under his fingers, the soft skin behind his ear.

Fingers stroke over his balls, gently, and Dom is blinded by the pleasure, his dick bumping up against the roof of Brian’s mouth, Brian’s tongue soft against the underside. “Gonna come,” he says, and he can barely hear himself.

Brian hears him, though, because he makes an encouraging noise that vibrates around Dom’s dick, and that’s it—Dom pushes into that wet, sucking heat and comes in deep, wrenching spasms.

Brian swallows around him, again and again until he’s sucking gently at Dom’s softening cock, until he finally pulls off and sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth. Dom just breathes for a minute.

Eventually Brian pushes himself to his feel and steps into the bathroom; he comes out with a wet washcloth and hands it to Dom. Dom cleans off his hand and his stomach and his dick, carefully, and after a second of thought, strips off his jeans, too. He drops the washcloth back into the bathroom, and when he comes out, Brian’s sitting on Dom’s bed, also in his boxers.

“Think you can sleep?” he says. His voice is quiet but not tentative.

“Yeah,” says Dom, and it’s the truth. After the race and the sex, he’s so relaxed he almost feels boneless.

“Should I move?” Brian’s looking at him straight on, no indication of how much he cares about the answer. Dom thinks about it, about sleeping with Brian’s breathing steady from across the room, or sleeping with Brian warm next to him, tucked against his side.

“Nah,” he says finally, and drops down next to Brian, stretching out full-length. Brian lies down on his back, arm brushing against Dom’s chest, and Dom thinks of something, something he wanted to ask earlier today and couldn’t. “Hey,” he says.

“Yeah?” Brian’s still quiet, looking up at the ceiling.

Dom lets his knuckle graze Brian’s side, softly. “You really want to throw away your job like this?”

Brian smiles a little at that, and doesn’t tense up at all, just says, “I don’t have a job anymore. I probably lost it when I didn’t call in right after you blew up your car.”

Dom’s spent a while not really thinking about what Brian’s given up for him, but once he lays it on the table, it paints an impressive picture. “So,” he says. “Your life in L.A., it’s pretty much gone?”

Brian glances over at him, finally, and says, unblinking, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“So we’re even, then,” says Dom.

That surprises a laugh out of him. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe we both just needed to start over somewhere else.” He reaches out, strokes a finger over Dom’s sternum. “I was thinking maybe Rio.”

Dom breathes in deep, watches Brian’s hand rise and fall with his chest. “Rio sounds good,” he says.


End file.
